


Gear Grind

by FlyingButtress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Universe-Hopping, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Dean-Swap, It's Cas-Tiel, M/M, Oblivious Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 00:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingButtress/pseuds/FlyingButtress
Summary: Dean wakes up to a completely alien environment, but there are a few familiar faces wandering around in weird clothes. Something happened in this world that didn't happen back home, history has gone completely off script. Dean confirms that no matter where he is, trouble always seems to find him, even on air ships floating straight into demon-infested territory. But so does Castiel.





	Gear Grind

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of takes place in the earlier seasons, but it's also an AU. (^v^)
> 
> Thanks to my friends for all the support!

Dean woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. It wasn’t the fact his head was pounding like he’d drank all the liquor at the Roadhouse, that wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but it had more to do with the fact he did not wake up in his own bed.

Now, this fact alone was not what bothered him. More than once, Dean had woken up with a raging headache in someone else’s bed, and that situation varied between beautiful women who occupied his previous night and emergency aid in a desperate situation (and sometimes a combination of both).

No, what really bothered him was the fact the room he was in was some kind of weird, sci-fi room with metal walls, dark and lit only by an intricate sconce that seemed to be more glow-in-the-dark light than electrical or even the less-familiar-but-still-recognizable gas. The sconce was in the shape of a fish jumping out of water, its gaping mouth clutching a glass orb that was the source of the glowing. The light flickered lively as he looked at it, but it unnerved him so much, he had to look away.

The rest of the room seemed normal. The bed he was on was a single, just big enough to fit him comfortably. It had dark sheets and a comforter, messy and slept in as a bed should be. There was clothing littered around the room, not unlike his own room, though there were no band t-shirts and jeans in sight, no plaid boxers, and even worse, no forgotten bras or lace panties from his last, or favorite, conquests.

He himself was wearing weird underclothes, reminiscent of military-issued items. The boxer-briefs were an ugly green-tinted grey, and the tank was a sad shade of tan with a few typical stains that looked coffee-born in nature. The room was bigger than a prison cell, probably 8’ by 10’ but sparsely furnished so it wasn’t cramped. The only other things in the room were an ornately carved dresser and a thin desk stuffed side-by-side. There was an unmarked door which the bed pointed toward, the sconce settled on that wall beside it. There were no visible light switches to change the light, if it even was light and not some weird insect invasion. There was also, much to Dean’s surprise and growing alarm, no door handle.

That was the thought which had Dean hopping out of bed, ignoring the pounding in his head and the way his knees wobbled underneath him a bit like he was on uneven ground. He touched the door, found it was chilled like metal. It and the walls were made from a metal he had ever seen before, now that he was looking at them closely. It was like a strange mixture of wood and metal, wood grain infused with metallic strands, something weird and unfamiliar.

Dean refocused on the door as his only way out, running his hands all along the smooth metal-wood in search of a latch or a switch. It wasn’t until he ran his hands along the thin door frame that his fingers bumped over a small, raised latch, which triggered at his touch. With only a whisper of sound, the door shifted and slid left into the wall, leaving a gaping doorway into more unfamiliar territory.

Staring out into the darkened hallway, even darker than the room, Dean hesitated. What was he supposed to do now? Licking his lips nervously, Dean leaned out and peered around. The right side of the corridor led to a dead-end, only one door on the other side of the hallway. The left stretched quickly into a darkness Dean could decipher. He could just barely see a distant glowing from the floor farther up where the hallway seemed to branch apart at an intersection. Several more doors lined either side of the hallway, no signs or identifying marks on any of them to help determine what was behind them.

Afraid to go wondering somewhere he didn’t remotely recognize in his underwear, Dean pulled back into his room and fumbled with the switch on the door. He pressed it a little too roughly before it shuddered and slid back noiselessly into place. He then started looking through the abandoned clothes on the floor, only finding the articles frankly disappointing. Whoever lived here had poor taste in clothes.

He moved next to the dresser, pulling the first of four drawers out and finding shirts. Not just any kind of shirts, but frilly dress shirts, some of which actually had ruffled necks and sleeves. With a horrified shudder, Dean shut that drawer and moved on to the next, but it was only full of underclothes like the ones he was already wearing. The third drawer finally came up with pants, though of what kind, Dean couldn’t really comprehend. They seemed to be his size, so he found himself crawling into a pair for lack of anything better.

They seemed to be slacks of a cut Dean had never seen before. They were high-waisted, with four buttons keeping them in place. There were no pockets, which was totally weird, and there was a black stripe that went down the outsides of the legs. In the bottom drawer, because Dean didn’t want to walk around barefoot or without a shirt, he found a leather bomber jacket covered in patches and bars that looked official, but also warm and much better than frilly shirts. Dean pulled it out and threw it on, feeling better than running around in just a wife-beater like a douchebag. He found shiny, black leather boots under his bed, grabbed a pair of socks from the second drawer, and pulled them on to find they fit perfectly. Disturbingly perfect. Even the worn grooves he could feel his toes fitting into.

A shiver went through the ground and Dean looked around wildly in alarm. It felt like a distant explosion, one that came from somewhere below. Before Dean could even start thinking of the causes, there was a deep, bone-churning rumbling that shook the entire room for a few seconds before it calmed a little. It was like an engine starting up all around him, settling into a constant hum that Dean could still feel in the back of his teeth.

Dean was forced to tuck the ends of his pants into his boots, the pants too tight to let the boots feel comfortable. Not that Dean really cared about the way it looked. He wanted to be able to run if he needed to, trained to be wary in all things. A whistling alarm started up outside of his room, slow with no urgency. Dean could hear footsteps, quite a few of them out in that corridor, like an army waking up. Nerves shook through him for a moment as he tried to decide what to do next. He was completely out of his element, lost in unfamiliar territory and unsure how he got there. Plus, his head still kind of hurt.

Before long, the nearest footsteps faded. It seemed as though they were moving away from his door, further down the corridor, probably around the corner he’d barely been able to make out. He tripped the door switch and peeked out again. The hallway was brighter, lights in the ceiling now on, strips glowing with the same properties as the light in his room, only brighter. He could see other people walking down the corridor at the end of the hall, going both directions seamlessly, with direction and no hesitance. They knew what they were doing, so clearly they weren’t as lost as the hunter.

As he stared at them, one of the doors between him and them slid open with a whisper that was covered by the footsteps and the alarm. A figure backed out of the room, wearing clothes very similar to what Dean—and everyone else walking by at the end of the hall as far as he could see—was wearing. The only difference was a strange utility belt on his hips and an honest-to-god aviator hat. The man turned his head as his door shut and sent a grin in Dean’s direction, lifted a hand for a lazy salute, then turned to join the scurrying fray at the end of the hallway.

“What the actual fuck?” Dean asked out loud, though no one answered, much to his relief.

The floor beneath him lurched suddenly to the side, not enough to knock him off balance, but enough to startle him into clutching the door frame. An indecipherable shout rose from the people moving around. No one seemed alarmed, or even surprised, though a few people started moving around faster than the others.

It was really that, and the fear and curiosity of figuring where the hell he was, that propelled Dean forward and into the fray himself. At the end of the hall, he let the crowd push and pull him along, trying not to be in anyone’s way as he gawped and stared at everything around him.

With all the twists and turns, the close quarters, the uniforms, Dean figured he was somehow on a submarine or some other naval vessel. It would explain the constant humming he could still feel in the back of his teeth if he concentrated, and the occasional tipping of the floor as supposedly the vessel turned or something.

But it wasn’t just a normal submarine, either. Everything looked bizarre, all the technology was extremely outdated, made up more of gears and kinetic energy than electrical switches and doodads. At one point, Dean had nearly collided with a woman in a _bustled skirt_ wearing goggles and staring down into a device that looked more duck-tape-and-gum than first-prize-at-science-fair, all the while reading off some kind of coordinates to a lackey that was chasing her with a clipboard and _quill pen!_

The real kicker, though, was when he stumbled through a door and found himself nearly flying over the railing of the ship he was on, giving him a nice, rather sudden and heart-wrenchingly drastic view of the ground several hundred miles beneath his feet. He almost fainted, it was a close thing. His vision started blacking out and his grip on the metal railings he was clinging to while leaning precariously far over the edge started to weaken. The only thing that saved him were the other floating ships in the air around them. He didn’t faint simply because his brain latched onto the idea that he was totally dreaming since the only thing worse than a floating ship in the air, was an entire fleet of them stretched out all around them, all several hundred feet in the air and _rising_!

Eventually, other people moving about on the deck pushed him along to an open area that seemed almost like the landing strip of an aircraft carrier. Only this one was on a much smaller scale and _on a floating airship_. Even while his mind was flip-flopping between panic and convincing himself this was all a bad dream, his mind took in more details of everything around him, like how the other ships in the fleet were mostly similar, but there were a few variations in their designs that he was able to notice with an untrained eye. Some of the others were like blimps with small cores in the center and large structures made out of that crazy metal-wood. It didn’t seem like it was all physics-friendly, but then again, Dean had never really cared about physics anyway.

In his observations of all the giant floating airships around him, the trained and skilled hunter almost entirely missed how there were also _people_ flying around in the sky on what looked like _mechanical wings_. Dean barely had time to process that the landing strips were for _landing people_ who were _flying on mechanical wings _between the airships before his shoulder was seized in a powerful grip and he was yanked back from the railing.

“Are you crazy, Winchester?” a familiar voice snapped impatiently at him. Dean’s eyes focused on none other than Castiel, A.K.A. Angel of the Lord. A cursory glance told Dean that, yep, trench coat.

“What is happening, Cas?” he asked with some levels of confusion and relief mixing together, feeling his knees weak and quaking, drained like they’d been quaking or a while and he just hadn’t noticed. His hands clamped onto the angel’s comfortingly familiar sleeves and let the other being effortlessly hold him upright. Dean’s voice totally didn’t crack, either. It was completely normal, yep.

“Snap out of it, Hunter,” Cas, Dean’s Cas, clueless and innocent-but-not angel Cas, stated coldly, like they barely weren’t strangers and not on saved-you-from-perdition levels of trust anymore. “If you can’t pull yourself together, I will happily have your captain put you on ice.”

For a moment, Dean gaped at the threat and the hard look in those blue eyes. And then belatedly realized that, no, this wasn’t _his_ Cas at all. Looking over the man standing in front of him—for the first time really examining him—Dean noticed the difference in his outfit and his stance. The cold scrutiny he was getting didn’t help his rather sudden crisis any better, either. There was a strange pack on Cas’ back that Dean somehow recognized as the contraption that was supporting the mechanical wings sprouting from behind Cas. Underneath his trench coat, the standard accountant outfit was replaced by the military-issued undershirt Dean was wearing, study cargo pants tucked into some weird high-tech boots that had some crazy brace on the heel consisting of springs and gears that shifted with the man’s weight. And there were weird goggles around his neck, the lenses a crisp blue like his eyes.

How had he missed all of that the first time? Well, maybe it was the relief of something familiar in such a bizarre place, or the fact that his brain was currently overloading. His hangover-like headache hadn’t exactly disappeared, he’d just been distracted from feeling it.

Now, though, it came back full force and Dean could feel the color drain from his face, along with most of the feeling in his legs.

Before he had a chance to reach forward and grab onto Cas again, the other man’s face twisted into concerned surprise, a sight Dean saw on his way to visit the deck with his face.

* * *

Dean woke up, but immediately knew he still wasn’t where he was supposed to be. The walls and ceiling were made of that wood-metal, and he was in an infirmary on a floating airship of some unknown nature. Directly above his head, a blue light gently glowed over his face, not bright enough to hurt his eyes when he opened them, but annoying as fuck all the same.

He moaned and turned his head to the side, hoping to get rid of the light. It stayed on his face despite his best efforts. He did have a moment to notice his head felt a little better before someone appeared at the foot of his bed, wearing a weird, cropped version of a doctor’s coat and an apron tied around her waist beneath it. She was clutching a clipboard to her buxom chest. Her brown hair was tied up messily behind her head, held back by a headband that might also have served as some kind of magnifying lens, but the woman was wearing glasses and a meek expression. Under her apron, a huge, bustled skirt puffed out all around her, looking incredibly inconvenient for the close-quarters of the beds, but then again, Dean thought the only real use of a skirt was for easier access.

“Hunter Winchester,” the woman said in a soft, timid voice, which seemed more like her regular manner of speaking, rather than any intimidation she felt from him. “How are you feeling?”

“Uhn,” he managed, finding his mouth incredibly dry, and the blue light still irritating.

Realizing his dislike of the light, the woman reached around and flipped a switch, drenching Dean in blissful darkness, or at least what was blissful compared to having a blue light shining in his face. She then looked down at her clipboard and made a quick note before she looked up at him with a naturally sympathetic expression. “Angel Castiel brought you here after you collapsed on the upper deck in front of him. He said you were,” she glanced back down at her clipboard and a small flicker of her lips told him she was amused, “’incoherent and hysterical,’ is how he phrased it, I believe.”

Dean huffed and tried to sit up in the bed, but decided against it when his head twinged a bit. “Was not,” he muttered petulantly.

“Yes,” the woman mused for a moment. “He left instructions for you to remain on bed-rest for the rest of the day, and for me to inform him and your captain when you woke up. Before I do that,” she hesitated, pressing her clipboard to her chest again and giving Dean a careful look, “I want you to know that my preliminary scans showed no cause for your mental disturbances. In fact, it seems as though all traces of your previous injuries have completely vanished.”

“Good to know?” Dean replied, because he didn’t know what else to say, and the poor woman looked unsettled.

“Right, I’ll send them a message. They should be here shortly.” She turned to leave, but before she was far, she added, “You know, Angel Castiel seems to have a soft spot for you, Hunter Winchester. Almost as big as your captain’s. I’ve never seen the like from an Angel before.”

With that comment hanging over his head, Dean sunk into the bed and sighed, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed by the mattress and whisked back to his own world. He didn’t know what hell he’d woken in this time, but enough was enough.

He would never admit out loud that he was both grateful and weirded-out by Cas being there, even if the dude was weirder than normal and not at all the man Dean had grown used to.

The only warning he got before his visitors arrived was the heavy stomping of boots, and the first thing out of the red-faced, scruffy-bearded man that must have been his captain was a roaring, accusing “You _idjit!_” and a thick finger stabbing in his direction from across the cramped room. “What did I tell you about your stress levels, boy? We made a damn deal, and I expected you to stick to it.”

“Bobby!” Dean exclaimed, feeling his heart soar at the sight of the older man who was very clearly alive and well, dressed in the same style of pants Dean had put on with suspenders keeping them in place, those typical military boots on, and the same undershirt as Dean, though Bobby’s was crisp and stainless. Instead of the requisite trucker hat, Bobby was wearing a white-cloth captain’s hat with a black leather bill decorated with gold and brass details. There was an insignia of three golden gears staggered on top of one another with brass wings extending out from them, similar to the wings he’d seen supporting humans flying solo around the airships. Beneath the gears were two crossed weapons, a sword and a rifle, almost reminiscent of a skull and crossbones, though definitely less pirate-y. Probably.

“That’s Captain Singer to you, boy,” Bobby corrected grumpily, though he seemed less livid at the excited way Dean greeted him. “I’m still mad at you, idjit.”

“Well, he seems somewhat more coherent,” Cas commented blithely from where he’d followed Bobby, standing awkwardly close to the captain in his no-concept-of-personal-space way Dean was familiar with.

Singer rolled his eyes in exasperation at the comment—or maybe the presence behind him—and stepped closer to Dean’s bed, to drop a large hand on Dean’s shoulder. “How are you feeling now, boy?”

Dean stared up at Bobby, still with feelings of utter amazement circling around in his head. It took him a moment to remember he had to answer the question, glancing over at Cas to gauge how he might answer. The familiar-looking man stood at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down unblinkingly and unimpressed at where Dean sat. Their eyes met for a moment before Dean looked back at Bobby, and Cas looked sharply away.

For a moment, the hunter clenched his jaw, not knowing what to say. “Bobby,” he began, but when the man’s eyes tightened and he looked like he was about to start yelling again, Dean quickly corrected himself, “I mean, Captain Singer, sir,” and Bobby quirked one of his eyebrows up like he didn’t understand the respectful addition to the title. Dean didn’t have any clue how to go on from there, only knowing that he trusted Bobby, and even Cas, even if they weren’t the same ones he knew by heart and soul. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he was rescued by the woman from earlier.

“Oh, would you two leave my patient alone,” the woman grumbled good-naturedly, smacking Cas lightly on the arm. The only reaction this got from the Angel was a bemused grimace and side-step, allowing the woman to approach Bobby and Dean.

“Medic Payne, what an honor,” Bobby said, grinning at the woman, but she only rolled her eyes behind her glasses and shook her head.

“Please, Captain, it’s Meredith to you. And you’re here for Hunter Winchester, not me.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” the old man said, like he’d already forgotten. Still lying in bed, Dean just grinned as he watched Bobby, because _damn_ if there was nothing better than seeing Bobby alive again. His smile disappeared when all three of them were suddenly looking down at him. “Dean, my boy, you haven’t answered my question.”

Dean floundered for a moment before he remembered the question. It was a really complicated question, because Bobby was asking how Dean felt, but Dean had all the wrong answers. He hesitated, nervously glancing between Bobby and the medic before his eyes flickered over to Cas. The Angel’s eyes were practically glowing, a hard, fierce blue, and Dean found it hard to look away again.

“I-I’m fine, sir,” he finally managed to force out.

“I can verify that,” the medic stated, looking down at her clipboard, and garnered Bobby’s and Cas’ attentions immediately. Dean felt the loss of Cas’ gaze, but also looked down at his own hands with some amount of relief. “Physically, he’s at 100 percent.”

There was an awkward silence, and Dean glanced up to see Cas staring down at him with suspicion, Bobby staring at Medic Payne with a heavy, skeptical look.

“What exactly do you mean ‘100 percent’?” Bobby asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a very immovable way. He had never appreciated when he was lied to, and he was never happy when he thought someone was lying. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. “Concussions don’t just get up and walk away.”

“I am aware of that, Captain,” Payne stated calmly, looking up from her clipboard without moving her head, looking hella intimidating facing down Bobby Fucking Singer, who was immediately cowed. “However, they cannot be conjured when they have disappeared, either. Unless you would like to do the honors personally.” She held a hand out in Dean’s direction, and Dean stiffened at the implication.

“Oi, wait a minute,” he began to protest, but it wasn’t his turn to talk, apparently.

“His back? His wrist?” Cas interrupted. “Are you telling us all of his injuries just went away?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” the medic stated calmly, “Except what I know. And Hunter Dean Winchester is in perfect physical health.”

The look Cas turned on him this time twisted deep in Dean’s stomach. It was accusing and tinted with hatred, and because of that, and the pounding of his head growing worse, Dean felt the blood drain from his face. He could barely hear Cas’ question over the rushing in his ears. “What did you do, Winchester?”

Dean felt like he was going to be ripped apart in a few seconds, the look Cas was giving him made him feel sub-human and guilty, even though he had less idea about what was going on than those around him.

“Hey, Angel,” Bobby barked, startling Dean out of his internal woes, but not dislodging Cas’ gaze. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my Hunter until we have all of the damn pieces on the table, you hear me?”

“If he’s healing himself with demonic powers, I think I have a right to lay a finger on him,” Cas responded bitterly, face turning red as it twisted in contempt and anger.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on now,” Dean interrupted, putting his hands out. They all looked down at him with varying emotions. Payne was intrigued, Bobby was impatient, and Cas was still pretty fucking mad. “What do you mean ‘demonic powers’?” he asked, looking between Bobby and Cas. “I ain’t playing with demons.”

“It certainly looks like you’ve been dabbling, now doesn’t it?” Cas spat. “Care to explain how your severe injuries are just missing?”

Dean winced, stumbling over his thoughts. He didn’t know the first thing about what was going on, but if there were still angels and demons, and Bobby, maybe he wasn’t too far out of place. “Look, I don’t really know what’s going on,” he began, trying to look as earnest as he could.

“Dean!” he heard from the entrance of the infirmary, and whatever he was going to say next tumbled from his mind at the sound of his brother’s frantic voice. “Dean, are you okay?” The giant man cascaded into the room, rushing forward to slot himself right next to Dean’s bed, the other side of Payne and Bobby, brushing past a bristling Cas without a glance or thought. He immediately clasped a warm, real hand around Dean’s, squeezing tight as he examined what he could of Dean above the sheets.

“Sammy, what the hell are you wearing?” was Dean’s eloquent greeting. At first, he’d been thrilled to hear Sam, but then he’d gotten an eyeful of his brother in high-waisted pants, a close-fitting vest with a chain dangling from a pocket, and an actual, honest-to-god top hat on his tied-back long hair. He had ink or dust or something all over his fingers, a smudge on his cheek, and real concern in his dark, puppy eyes.

At Dean’s question, though, Sam just frowned and looked down at himself in confusion. “What? I don’t know, what I normally wear,” he replied, then shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. Are you okay? When I heard you were in the infirmary—”

“Doctor Winchester,” Cas hissed, almost spitting like a cat. “Remove yourself from the prisoner.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Bobby shouted, at the same time Sam rose suddenly and spat, “Dean is not a prisoner!”

The noise struck Dean right in the temples and he winced, pressing his knuckles to the source of the pain. He could feel sweat starting to form on his forehead, and then suddenly a glass was being thrust in his hands and the room was dead silent. Dean drank the liquid without hesitating, hoping it would get rid of the headache, but it only eased it slightly. He looked up to find his audience watching him closely, and he looked back down at the drink.

“Holy water?” he asked, handing the glass back to the medic. The woman smiled pleasantly at him, a smug confidence in her movements as she set the glass on a bedside table. “Look,” Dean sighed, letting himself glance at Cas, who seemed only slightly mollified, while Bobby was pursing his lips and Sam was critically eyeing his brother, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not who you think I am.”

“What do you mean, Dean?” Sam asked gently, kneeling by his bed again and taking Dean’s hand.

Weirded out by the touching, Dean pulled his hand back and muttered, “Cut it out. I don’t need you to hold my hand, Sammy.” He cleared his throat and folded his hands together, ignoring the look his brother was now giving him for that denial. “I don’t know how to explain this, but,” he shrugged slightly, looking up at Bobby for confidence, “I don’t think I’m from this world.”

There was silence all around him, and Dean nervously flickered his eyes between his visitors, seeing none of their expressions changing in response to what he’d said. Finally, Cas threw his hands in the air and turned away, shaking his head. Sam looked with great concern at Dean while Bobby asked Payne, “You’re sure there’s no trace of a concussion?”

“I’m being serious,” Dean snapped, suddenly finding a little of his own anger at his situation, at the fact that his friends and family weren’t taking him seriously, at the fact his headache was still lingering like a clingy ex. “I know all of you, but this place, this situation, I just don’t get it. Last night, I was home in the bunker, reading some goddamned Nietzsche, waiting for the entire world to end, and then I wake up here and I’m fucking pissed about it, okay?” For a moment, he couldn’t look up, too angry, too afraid, but then he could see Cas moving slowly just outside of his vision, and years of training, years of knowing Cas, and a little bit of human nature’s urge to look at moving things made Dean glance up at him.

The carefully blank expression hurt, so he moved on to Sam, who was looking confused, and then Bobby, who looked disgruntled.

“I’m not concussed, or crazy, okay?” he continued. “I’ve seen and done a lot of shit, and I remember it all. This isn’t the me you guys know having a memory lapse, or having hallucinations or some crazy shit. This is a different me, whose lived an entire life _not floating in the sky_, running around in the glorious U. S. of A., hunting the supernatural.”

“You realize you’re only making yourself sound crazier, right?” Cas asked with a sneer that did not look right on his face.

“Angel, do not make me pull rank and remove you from the bay,” Bobby stated, sending a glare at Cas.

“Dean, the United States crumbled years ago,” Sam stated gently, like he was afraid Dean would break if he said the wrong thing. Like he was fragile.

“As horrifying as that statement is, little brother,” Dean said, feeling his skin crawl at the thought, “That’s exactly my point. I’m not from here, and I am needed back there.”

“What do you propose we do, Winchester?” Bobby asked. “I let you on this ship despite your injuries because we need you, need your expertise on this mission. We all knew you might not be able to truly help, but this is taking it another step.”

Dean frowned and looked intently at Bobby, seeing the regret at Dean’s situation in his intelligent eyes. “Help with what? Maybe I can still help, now that I’m not horribly injured as you guys are implying the other me was.”

“No, absolutely not,” Cas objected. “We cannot send an untrained civilian into the heart of demon territory!”

Bobby held up a hand to silence Cas as he looked at Dean, studying him. “You say you hunted where you come from?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, glancing at a nervous-looking Sam. “It was the family business.”

The captain brought a hand to his face, still studying Dean. He rubbed at his rough stubble and glanced at Cas, bringing Dean’s gaze with him.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Cas asked reluctantly, glaring at the captain.

“Well, he was our saving grace, and now here he is, completely healed. Wouldn’t be too surprised is your Father thought to give us a helping hand.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean interrupted, pressing a hand to his eyes to stave off the incoming headache again. “What does that mean, saving grace? And what does Cas’ dad have anything to do with anything? Isn’t he missing?”

The looks he was sent told him that, clearly, some of his information was very wrong.

“My Father is not missing, Winchester, and my name is not ‘Cas,’ it is Castiel.” The Angel looked to Bobby, and then to Sam. “Perhaps Doctor Winchester should determine what precisely the Hunter knows, and then we should test his skill-levels to see whether or not he will be of use to us.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Sam commented, and then looked at Bobby earnestly for his answer.

The older man sighed and nodded. “Fine, but we need to do this quickly. We’ll be passing into demon territory within a couple of hours, and everything needs to be in place.”

Dean looked at his brother as he sat down on the edge of the empty bed next to his. Bobby turned to Payne and led her away in a conversation too quiet for him to hear. Cas stayed at the end of the bed for several seconds, critically eyeing Dean and Sam, before he, too, turned away, crossing his arms tight over his chest as he walked out of the infirmary in a strangely insecure way.

Smiling, Sam watched him go before turning back to look at Dean. “Man, he has got it so bad,” Sammy said, grinning.

With a frown, Dean shifted to a more comfortable position. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Immediately, the grin vanished from Sam’s face, and the moose rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “No, it’s, uh, nothing. Anyways, let’s get started on your knowledge base.”

* * *

Dean stared down at the ground far below them and felt numb. Payne had given him something effective for his head, though he hadn’t asked what it was. He was now caught up on this world and its woes, and he desperately wanted to be back home, his home. Back to the world ending there, because at least all that made some fucking sense.

This was just insanity and misfortune, all wrapped up tight in a neat little bundle of chaos.

He could see the line of territory up ahead, where it split from human ruled to demon. Where he was standing, the roar of the engines was deafening, in a totally reassuring way. He shivered in the constant cold air washing over him, but he didn’t look away.

In this world, Dean had discovered, the world had already ended, ages ago. Like, back in the time of the original Colt. Shit had hit the fan and exploded everywhere, but there were still survivors. Now, here they were, on an air fleet, heading to their doom in the hopes this small army could take down physical manifestations of demons. Like, giant behemoths of power and destruction, surrounded by thousands of smaller minions just waiting for a drop of human blood. Supposedly the big ones were occupied elsewhere though, which was half the reason the army hadn’t waited for their Dean to heal.

The towers jutting up from the human lands, keeping back any demons from the borders, were coming up very close. The fleet would be passing over them soon, and then they’d be firmly entrenched in demon territory.

Dean shivered again and hunkered down in his bomber jacket. This world was a strange one, very different from his own, but it had its own unique technology. Dean was sure Sammy, his Sammy, would have been googly-eyed over the whole thing, but Dean was very much less-than-impressed. He preferred being on the ground, and being warm.

“They will most likely spot us soon, and then the air will be swarming with winged demons,” Cas said, startling Dean. The Angel, a term with a completely different meaning here than Dean’s world, was suddenly standing right beside Dean, close enough he could feel body heat.

“You gonna jump out there and smack ‘em a new one?” Dean asked as casually as he could. Cas gave him a short glare, then sighed and looked back out. There was a perpetual storm over the demon territory, which made the flying ships and the flying Angels a lot more difficult to control.

“That is not my role,” Cas replied calmly, leaning on the railing casually. “Other Angels are prepared for battle, if it comes to that.”

“You think it might not?” Dean asked skeptically.

“We are prepared either way,” Cas said, effectively ending that line of conversation.

Dean huffed and rocked carefully on his heels. “So, you’re human, then?”

Frowning, Cas shifted on his feet. “I do not understand the question. What else would I be?”

“An ‘Angel of the Lord,’” Dean said, using an overly macho, deep voice meant to mimic Cas’, but came nowhere close to the angel’s level of deep and serious tones. When Cas gave him a blank look, Dean realized that was literally what Cas still was, only with a different definition. “No, I mean, like an actual angel, an angel of God.”

“That is a strange concept,” Cas commented, “But that is not who I am.”

Dean grinned at him. “Right, instead you’re a creation of a mad scientist.”

“My Father is not mad,” Cas snapped, but settled when he saw that Dean was grinning.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean pacified, looking back out on the lands. They were officially into demon territory now, meaning they needed to be on their guards at all times. Thankfully, these demons couldn’t possess people. Or, at least, they hadn’t yet. “Your Father saved all of human kind and we’re all eternally grateful to Him.” He studied the craggy, tumultuous lands below. He thought he could vaguely see small dots moving around on the rough, ravaged landscape, but the land was too far away to really tell. “I do think it’s kind of dirty that He genetically altered human DNA.”

“It was not dirty at the time, it was necessary. If He hadn’t created us, all of humanity would be destroyed.”

“Now, are you saying that because He programmed you to, or are you saying that of your own free will?” The glare Cas sent him was cruel and cold, but Dean merely held up his hands. “No, I mean it. Where I come from, free will is a big-ass deal.”

“Winchester,” he began, facing Dean directly. “If my Father had not created my brothers and I, the demons would have completely taken over the continent, and then the entire world.” His eyes studied Dean’s face for a moment, both of them very serious. Dean could feel the tension between them, Cas clearly more conscious than the version Dean knew well. Their eyes met for a moment, locking on, and the tension grew thicker as words went unsaid. Eventually, Cas sighed and turned away, tightening his fists on the railings until his knuckles were white. Dean could see the backpack apparatus that housed the metal wings, knew those were not what marked Cas as an Angel. “I feel it is an honor to have such a purpose,” the Angel muttered, tilting his head to the side as he gazed on the torn-up lands below them. “Normal humans are born and they must find their own purpose in life, but I was handed mine. I don’t have to fight for a position or a status, I merely exist as who I am.”

Unable to help himself, Dean snorted, earning a sharp glare from the Angel, but that only made it worse. After a moment, Dean was clutching at his sides, laughing outright, and completely at the mercy of Castiel. The sharp, irritated huff pulled him from his humor, and he straightened, smoothing his jacket and pants and trying to make his face ease out of the smile. “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, trying to placate the annoyed look from Cas’ face. “Look, I’m not laughing _at _you,” he tried, but the glare worsened, and he realized, “Well, okay, actually, I was, but not because of_ you_. Well, actually, again, it’s more because of the _other_ you.” When the look didn’t change, Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his head, knowing he was just digging a hole. “It’s not you, it’s me?” he tried half-heartedly.

“Just, shut up, Winchester,” the Angel grumbled, _actually pouting_ as he turned back to the view. “I see your in-eloquence is universal.”

“Hey,” Dean complained, but again, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading on his face. They stood in silence for a while, until sirens started going off around the fleet, and Angels started launching in the air to defend them. Cas herded Dean inside, where it was safer, dropping him off at Sammy’s place of occupation.

The lab itself was intimidating, but the friendly people were okay. Dean stuck close to Sam, who didn’t seem to mind the hovering. He was afraid of getting in the way, afraid of bumping into someone or something crucial. They couldn’t hear any of the outside commotion from where they were, but Dean couldn’t think about anything else, not really. To be fair, all the science-y stuff had never interested him to begin with, and though he was happy that this Sammy got to play, he still wasn’t interested. The action was outside, where he felt he needed to be.

Maybe an hour or so after he’d been banished to the science labs—he couldn’t bear to actually look at the clock in the room, didn’t want to watch how slowly time really was moving—Cas came back and rescued him. It was with much relief that Dean fled the labs, though Cas was not as happy to have Dean hovering close to him as Sam had been.

Cas led him to the navigation quarters, where Bobby was leaning over a map with some underling, pointing out a route or planning, or something. When Dean and Cas arrived, Bobby straightened, said something to the underling about continuing on course, then indicated that Dean and Cas follow him.

They walked into what appeared to be the Captain’s quarters, small and Spartan, just like Bobby, with a liquor cabinet in one corner. As Bobby started rummaging through it, leaving Dean and Cas to stand in the center of the small room, Dean grinned again, looking at Cas. “Yep, some things never change.”

“Boys, drink up,” Bobby said, turning around with two whiskey glasses in hand. He passed the first to Cas, the second to Dean, and then gathered his own from the counter. There was a finger of dark liquid in each, and it smelled just as good as it did at home. They each raised their glasses and then downed the whiskey in one go. There was an extra spiciness to it that Dean hadn’t expected, but he managed to get it down without a fight.

“Are we close to our destination, Captain Singer?” Cas asked, setting his glass on the counter gently. There was a flush to his cheeks Dean had never seen before, which made Dean feel uncomfortable just seeing it. He waited for Cas to move out of the way, but realized that the Angel had no intention of moving to let Dean put his own glass down. He braced himself and leaned in, reaching between Bobby and Cas to get his glass set down. He quickly backed away when he realized just how close his face had been to Cas’ chest, forcing himself not to acknowledge the heat he could feel on his face.

“We’re nearly there. Just a half hour more, and we’ll be on top of it all,” Bobby stated gruffly, twirling the small remains of liquor in his glass without paying it too much attention. “The portal to Hell itself.”

“What exactly is this portal?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know Sam explained it to me, but he has this way of talking that makes me purge most of the information he says.”

“Idjit,” Bobby grumbled, tilting his glass to his mouth again and trying to catch the last few drops of whiskey.

“The portal is a giant hole in the ground,” Cas stated. “It’s where all the demons crawl out of Hell.”

“And we’re just going to, what? Blow it up?” Dean asked, wanting clarification before he was sent out there to fight off anything that tried to stop them.

“It’s a matter bomb,” Cas said with thin patience. “It will destroy everything for miles, and hopefully kill the most demons.”

“Won’t that include us?” Dean asked nervously. Sure, Sam also explained the bomb, but again, Sam talking nerd usually went in one ear and out the other.

Sighing, Cas shook his head, knowing Dean hadn’t listened to Sam. “The fleet will start to turn around before we get there. My team and I are the only ones getting close enough, and we’re fast in the air. The only thing that will slow us down in the first place will be carrying the bomb. Once it drops, there will be a delay before it activates. The Portal is an infinite hole in the ground. Unless the bomb hits something on the way down, or crashes into the sides, it won’t go off until we’re long gone.”

“See, why can’t Sammy just explain things like that?” Dean asked, grinning. Cas merely rolled his eyes and turned away. Bobby snickered slightly and gave Dean a sly grin that quickly watered down Dean’s own amusement, making him feel like he was the butt of some joke he didn’t know.

As Dean followed Cas out of Bobby’s quarters, Dean loosened the muscles in his shoulders. “I’m needed to help security on the boat, right?”

“Air ship,” Cas corrected automatically, “And yes. Originally, we were going to have you locked in a room, directing the others on how to kill the various demons, but since you’re now able-bodied, and you proved yourself a decent fighter—”

“Admit it, I knocked you on your ass!”

“—You’ll be out in the fray, protecting the ship from anyone trying to kill everyone else.”

“Sounds like a typical Tuesday,” Dean quipped, following behind Cas through the maze of halls, though Bobby had stayed back in the navigation room.

A grunt was the only response he got from Cas as they entered into a new room Dean had never seen before. He was instantly gaping at everything, fingers tingling to touch. Cas didn’t hesitate as he reached out and grabbed a long, thin blade which he strapped to his hip. “This is the armory,” he added unnecessarily. “I think it’s best you get your weapons now, before the rest of the crew. I don’t think you’ll be able to find yourself back here when the alarms start, and as you’re still technically our saving grace, you being armed is a priority.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Dean said, reaching for a gun he’d never seen before. It looked like a small cannon, the barrel as round as his fist. Before he could touch it, Cas slapped his hand away, reached forward and pulled a good, old-fashioned rifle with sharp bayonet attached the front of it. He pulled it off the wall and pressed it into Dean’s eager hands. “Is this a special metal?” he asked, fingering the end of the blade. Very sharp, with an almost blue tint to it.

“Yes, all the blades in this room were specially engineered by the scientists. They are coated in a poison that will incapacitate any demon, and eventually kill them.”

Dean snatched his hand away from the blade, no longer wanting to test it further. He swallowed a bit nervously and tilted the gun in his hands, testing its weight and balance. “Cool gun,” he commented lamely.

The leveling look Cas sent him said enough, and the two left the room, Cas leading again. They walked through the entire airship, stopping a few times to greet who Dean assumed were the other members of Cas’ group, a guess made because they all had the same wing packs on their backs and they greeted Cas like a brother. Dean was not surprised to note that a few of them were familiar, Anna, Gabriel, but they did not act as though they knew Dean, and Dean tried not to pay any attention to them, either, because he might have accidentally punched Gabriel in the face if he’d tried to be polite.

Cas didn’t seem to mind Dean following him around, which helped calm Dean’s nerves a little. The Angel was still a calm being, keeping Dean from full-blown panic most of the time.

They couldn’t go around the ship forever, though, and eventually Cas led Dean back to the lab.

“Stay here,” he instructed just as the alarms started going off around the fleet again. Dean had felt the airship slowing to a stop a few minutes previous, and as the alarms started, the ships were all turning to retreat. “Protect your brother,” Cas commanded, and Dean grinned at him for it.

“Will do, Cas. You deliver the package and come straight back here, got it?”

Those blue eyes narrowed on Dean, and Dean could see him press his lips together as the crew on the ship rushed around to get to their positions. “My name is Castiel,” he grumbled as he took a small device that Sam handed to him and left the lab without glancing back.

“Was that the bomb?” Dean asked skeptically, picturing the fist-sized device that had walked out in the palm of Cas’ hand. “That was tiny.”

“That was the detonator,” Sam stated, distracted by a set of gadgets splayed out on the table he’d seated himself in front of. “If the detonator was attached to the explosive before we got here, it probably would have blown up because of the vibrations of the ship.”

Dean stared at Sam, feeling sweat prickling the back of his neck. “The bomb is that sensitive? How will it handle being carried by dudes with wings?”

Without looking up from what he was working on, Sam just said, “The Angels know the risks they’re taking. I don’t even think Castiel expects to come back alive.”

Cold shot through Dean, freezing him to the spot behind Sam. “What?” he asked weakly, not wanting to think about Cas and his team just going out there to die. He and Cas had saved each other so many times in the past, sitting back and letting Cas die felt like giving up. He shivered, but he didn’t know what to do.

He was just settling on the decision to act on instinct when there was a knock on the door of the lab and Cas’ voice washed over him. “Um, Doctor Winchester? Can you remind me how this goes onto the explosives?”

Unable to stop himself, Dean smacked a palm into his face at hearing words that sounded so unprepared, stepping back to let Sam get out of his chair and approach the Angel. It would give him some time to gather his thoughts before he addressed Cas. Dean waited for Sam to go through the process with Cas again, making sure everything was understood, before he approached the Angel himself, just as Sam was stepping back to let him leave. Sam gave him a hard look as they passed each other, which he ignored with practiced ease.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean started, trying to force a smile on his face and he thought he might have even been somewhat successful.

“Cas-_tiel_,” the Angel insisted, about to pull away and leave to his death, but Dean grabbed his arm and pushed him only as far as the lab door, for privacy. “I must go to the deck, Winchester,” he grumbled, but he didn’t pull away from Dean and just leave, which Dean was grateful for.

“Look, Sam told me you don’t think you’re even coming back alive,” he stated, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown.

“If I must perish in order to—” he started, but Dean clapped a hand over his mouth, making his blues eyes bug out of his little head.

“Don’t even try that on me,” Dean said. “We might not be the same people we’re supposed to be, but I know you, Cas. I’ve known you for years, and you cannot give up your life. There are people that rely on you, people who trust you, do you hear me?”

Cas grabbed his hand and pried if from his mouth, keeping hold of it in a nearly crushing grip so Dean wouldn’t cover his mouth again. “I don’t see how this is any of your business,” he started, but Dean stomped his foot like a child having a tantrum.

“Your life isn’t meant to be thrown away, you need to stay alive.”

“I was made for a purpose—” Cas tried, but Dean was on an interrupting roll.

“That purpose is not to die! Your Father did not create you to die, and don’t even try that on me, either.” Dean shook his head and gripped Cas’ arm.

“Winchester, I need to go,” Cas argued, trying to pull free from Dean, but Dean only tightened his hand.

“Just promise me, you’ll do your damnedest to come back alive,” he demanded, making sure to look Cas directly in the eyes, those nice, wide, blue eyes that were like oceans roiling in a storm.

Cas hesitated, searching Dean’s face. He looked nervous, uncomfortable, but then his face closed off and Cas straightened. “Fine, I promise to try my hardest to live,” he agreed, pulling his arm forcefully from Dean’s grasp and took a step back to put space between them.

Huffing, Dean put his hands on his hips. “That’s all I wanted,” he said, and then added, “Don’t you need to be heading out soon?” An irritated look passed over Cas’s face, but he nodded and turned to go. “Good luck!” Dean added, to which Cas sent a glare over his shoulder at Dean.

“Wow, Sam, you were absolutely right,” Dean heard from the lab as he watched Cas walked away. It was one of the other scientists talking to his brother.

“I told you,” Sam replied smugly, and when Dean turned on his heel to catch them gabbing with each other, he only found the scientists with their heads bent over their individual projects.

“How long until I get to kill stuff?” Dean grouched, leaning on the counter beside Sam and clutching the rifle in his hands.

“I’m sure your time will come,” Sam stated sagely, pulling a pair of green-lensed goggles onto his face and grabbing a soldering tool.

* * *

They didn’t know they’d been boarded until a demon came crashing through the door of the lab. Dean’s instinctual reaction was to shoot it in the head, and only after he’d done that did he realize what had broken into the room.

Lying at his feet was not a human once possessed by a mystical black cloud, but a cartoonish red-skinned demon with satyr legs and large, dark horns protruding from its skull. It was wearing no clothing and it was covered in scarification and tribal tattoos.

“Okay, not what I’m used to, but I totally feel less bad about killing it than normal,” Dean commented. He grinned up at the scientists who were all giving him slightly horrified, slightly terrified looks from where they’d been startled by the demon’s sudden entrance. Thankfully, the door was on a spring and had shut behind it automatically, so they wouldn’t draw too much more attention from other demons.

Well, hopefully, anyway.

Now that they had solid evidence they’d been boarded, Dean herded the scientists towards the back of the room and asked them to arm themselves with whatever they’d be least likely to hurt themselves or each other with. He was proud to note that Sammy was the only other person in the room competent with a gun, and armed with a colt.

When he spotted the colt, he nodded and pointed as Sam. “Little brother,” he acknowledged affectionately, making the young doctor roll his eyes, a small blush prickling his face with embarrassment, which was only right.

They hunkered down in the labs and waited, after that. The few times anything entered the room, Dean shot it in the head, except the one time a human stumbled in with several lacerations along her body. With the injured woman in their midst, Dean dragged her over to the other humans, away from the dead demons and the sinister-looking black blood pooling around them, and helped the scientists give her emergency first-aid. Her wounds, thankfully, weren’t fatal, but she would have wicked-looking scars across her body which, when Dean pointed this out, she was not too thrilled about and sent him a hard glare for his troubles.

Overall, they had six demons visit, no telling how many more elsewhere on the ship. They didn’t know everything was over until a knock on the door and human head popped in with the all-clear. The man looked down at the pile of demons near the door and left with a wide-eyed look.

Without wasting a lot of time, Dean helped Sam move their injured guest to the infirmary, where she was not alone. Again, Dean stayed there to help where he could, which was more than the other Dean appeared capable of, from the looks Sam and Payne gave him when he started burying his hands in bleeding bodies.

But nothing was really over until the explosion ripped through the land far in the distance, sending a blast wave so huge and so fast it took only a few minutes to travel hundreds of miles. It couldn’t have been two hours since Cas and his team had left with the bomb, the whole time the fleet had been retreating. Dean hoped the Angels were faster because two hours away from the drop, and the entire airship felt like it was about to flip and tumble through the air. If it wasn’t for the fact the ships had some weird stabilizing abilities, they really might have. As it was, the sirens were going off, lights flashing everywhere, and Sam was yelling out that the engines might have been blown out as he went running from the infirmary.

Beneath his feet, Dean could feel the airship rumbling, the constant hum of the engine suddenly shifting to a needy whine. There was shuddering, and panicked feet running outside in the tight corridors. As far as he was aware, there was nothing Dean could do but continue to help the injured and hope the Angels had made it back already.

Also, he hoped they crash-landed in human territory if they had to crash-land anywhere. That would be nice. At least then, there wouldn’t be as many blood-thirsty demons scavenging for survivors.

Dean was just getting bandages around a head wound when new alarms started, on top of the older ones warning of the damage from the blast. All of the raucous sounds were bringing back his old headache, but he worked through it, glancing around at the conscious patients to gauge their reaction to the new set of sirens. Each one of them meant something different, and this one appeared to be good news, from the looks of relief.

Those new sirens cut off shortly after they had started, leaving the old sirens that warned of the possible doom of the ship. Dean didn’t know what they meant until the door to the infirmary was being shoved open and even more bodies were piling in. To his utmost joy—though Dean would deny it if asked—Cas and three other Angels were dragging two more Angels into the room. Two of the less injured patients on beds quickly scrambled off so the two unconscious Angels could be laid down. Dean had frozen upon seeing Cas entering the room, side-by-side with the very Angel he’d scolded only hours earlier.

Once his burden was released, Cas stood up and turned, suddenly face-to-face with Dean, and Dean was subjected to a close inspection of those bluest eyes. Without warning, Cas reached forward and grabbed Dean’s bloody hands, turning them over and examining them for damage. When he found nothing, Cas let them go hesitantly and peered closely at Dean again.

“You came back,” Dean pointed out, grinning like a dweeb who’d just won a spelling contest.

Huffing in slight irritation, Cas shook his head and turned to inspect the rest of the occupants. It appeared the only injuries his fellow Angels had sustained were a few minor cuts and bruises, just like the rest of them that were filing out of the room to make way. They must have been knocked out by the blast, or something.

While Cas started asking Payne what he could do to help, Sam popped his head back into the room, his ridiculous top hat abandoned somewhere else and his long hair a bit messed from the chaos on the airship.

“Dean, Angel Castiel is, oh,” he started, grinning at Dean’s glare when he stopped himself after noticing Cas was already there.

“Yeah, thanks, Sammy,” Dean grumbled.

“Welcome back, Angel Castiel,” Sam greeted lightly, giving the Angel a genuine Winchester smile, which he responded to with a confused half-wave. “I’d better get back to the engines,” he added as he turned his smile to Dean and saluted a goodbye.

“Don’t let us drop out of the sky, Sammy,” Dean called after him, shaking his head as he checked a surface burn on an engineer’s hands and face.

* * *

They didn’t end up falling out of the sky, thankfully. Two of the 16 airships in the fleet did, but they did manage to hold out until they were over human territory, and there were no fatal crashes. The casualty count was light, all around, most of the crews prepared for the invasions, but not everyone had survived. For those losses, there were still grim faces, but mission had been an overall success, and that meant one thing to army people, and that was party.

It wasn’t wild, 21st century partying, not like the carefree college students back where Dean was from, but there was excessive alcohol, music, and dancing, and Dean was fine with that. He didn’t join in, he didn’t feel he had a right to, really, but he sat back on the deck, with his feet dangling over the side, and an equivalent of beer in a weird, science flask. It tasted a little pine-fresh, but it wasn’t too bad.

That was where Cas crawled down beside him, slipping his legs beneath the railing and resting his arms on the lower rung just like Dean. His wing pack was missing, but he was still wearing the trench coat, which reassured Dean more than it should have. Cas was also holding one of the flasks in hand, cradled like he planned on making it last all night.

Nothing was said between them for several long moments as they let the music and the night air wash over them. They were still in the air, though a lot lower than they had been earlier. They would be returning to civilization in the morning, once the two downed airships could fly again. As it was, there were guard shifts of Angels drifting around them lazily, flitting from one ship to another like it was a casual jaunt. Which, for them, fair enough.

Eventually, Cas said, “I didn’t come back for you,” which was partially muffled by the glass near his face.

Dean glanced at him during his own sip, then shrugged and leaned more against the railing. “I didn’t expect you to,” he said.

“You’re not even from this place, we’re practically strangers,” Cas continued, focusing on the lip of his flask and pinching it between his slim fingers.

“Yep,” Dean agreed smoothly, feeling too amused by the sadly desperate way Cas was explaining himself.

“But it wasn’t for the other Dean, either,” Cas clarified suddenly, turning a stern look towards Dean, who just lifted an eyebrow, noting the slight blush on the Angel’s face that was slowly darkening. “He’s worse than you are.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know on my way back,” Dean said between sips. “Maybe leave a note in the room or with Sammy.”

Cas drew his shoulders together, making himself smaller. “No, don’t do that,” he pleaded guiltily, and Dean grinned at him. With a huff, Cas straightened and looked away from Dean. “You are irritating.”

Snickering, Dean downed the rest of his beer and set the glass aside. “You’re not too bad yourself, Cas.”

The glare sent his way was not as fierce as some of the others, and the “Cas_tiel_,” was only half-hearted. They fell into silence again, watching as one Angel flew gracefully by them on extended silver wings, the mechanisms whirring softly as she glided through the air.

Dean pressed a hand to his temple and watched her until she was out of sight, rubbing small circles on his forehead for a few seconds before he gave up.

“Is your head hurting you again?” Cas asked gently, and Dean nodded in response. It had started back after the bomb went off, when the sirens were going off everywhere. It had grown steadily worse since then, but it wasn’t unbearable. “Maybe you should see Medic Payne for a tonic.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Dean brushed the suggestion off, sending Cas a reassuring smile because he didn’t want to worry the worriest worry-wort. “I’ve handled worse.”

“You lead such a different life,” Cas said to the view of the billions of stars above them.

“Well, it’s not that different,” he admitted. “Technologically, they’re two different worlds, but the people are the same, the struggles.” He shrugged, grasped Cas’ beer and brought it to his lips. He savored the slightly minty flavor of that one for a moment, before Cas pulled it back with a slight grumble.

“We’re friends?” Cas asked suddenly. When Dean raised an eyebrow, he added, “In your world. You and I are friends?”

Grinning, Dean nodded with a slight shrug. “Yeah, man. We’re pretty tight.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Cas replied, making Dean chuckle for a moment, before he winced and pressed his hand to his temple again. “We’re not friends here, not really,” Cas went on, not noticing Dean’s discomfort. “I mean, we’ve laid with each other before, but you’ve always had a very dismissive nature—”

“Whoa, wait, what?” Dean asked, turning wide eyes towards Cas. “We’ve what?”

Cas blinked at him for a moment. “Are you alright?” he asked slowly, his voice sounding muffled and a little tinny. Dean realized he was squinting, but he couldn’t open his eyes further for some reason.

He gasped, pain shooting through his skull like shooting stars, and he bent over the railing, bracing himself. He could hear Cas calling his name, his _first_ name, and that sent goosebumps all over his skin, but when Cas grabbed his shoulder and tried to make him stand, probably with the intention of dragging him to the infirmary, Dean couldn’t manage to find his feet, causing them both to stumble. He felt the railing digging into his ribs, but he couldn’t coordinate his hands and feet to right himself, settling on clinging so he didn’t go over the edge.

“Can’t,” he managed to force out, but just as Cas was hauling him back up, towards the door that led into the ship, his vision blacked out completely.

* * *

This time, when Dean woke with a start, his heart nearly beating out of his chest, he was alone in his room. _His_ room, in the bunker. Those were his clothes scattered around the room, his gun under the pillow, his fist print in the wall by the door.

He sat up and threw the blankets off of him, turning so his legs were over the side and his feet were tickled by the rug and an abandoned sock. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the vestiges of his headache receding like the tide, and then pulled on his hair to get revenge on himself for that terrible simile.

Taking a slow breath, Dean took stock. He didn’t notice anything out of place, and he didn’t feel horribly wounded. There was no blood under his nails, as far as he could tell in the dimness of his room. His headache was almost entirely gone, and he thought he could taste a distant minty pine at the back of his throat. He had no idea if he was crazy, or if the memories of another place were really just a weird dream.

He was probably crazy.

A gentle knock at the door caught his attention and he stood up. Before he said anything, the door opened and Sam’s head peeked in, eyes round and shaggy hair tilted with the weird angle he was holding his head.

“Dean?” his brother called.

“Yes?” Dean replied suspiciously, skin prickling at the way Sam was looking at him like he was going to explode any moment.

“You feeling okay, buddy?” Sam asked, edging a little more into the room.

And that was it, that was all Dean could take before he started giggling. He fell back on his bed, clutching his knees to keep himself from curling on himself in laughter. Sam was standing at the door, using it as a shield in case Dean rushed him, staring at him in shock and concern.

Before Dean could gather himself, Sam quietly closed the door and left him to it. Silence stretched through the room when Sam left, Dean holding his breath to stop his hysteria. He thought about himself, from the other place, thinking he was on an airship heading towards the depths of demon territory. If that Dean had woken up here, underground, basically trapped, and wounded, he might have reacted explosively.

The door opened again and Cas walked in, eyes wide and wary. “Dean,” he greeted bluntly. “You’re back.”

“Yeah, Cas, I am,” Dean said, still seated on the bed with his arms leaning on his legs. He dropped his eyes to the ground in front of him and took a steadying breathe. “Do you know what happened?” he asked hopefully, glancing back up at Cas.

Cas stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He walked over and sat on the bed beside Dean without asking permission, and then sat in silence for a few, long seconds. “No,” he finally answered, as though he’d been thinking about it the whole time. “But I’m glad you’re back. The other Dean confused me.” When Dean eyed him, Cas cleared his throat, his face turning a nice, bright pink. “He touched me with a startling familiarity.”

“Are you trying to tell me that the other Dean groped you?” Dean asked carefully, feeling some emotion curling in his belly that he refused to acknowledge.

“He might have,” Cas murmured, face now at its reddest. He ducked his head. “He did.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said, fists curling on his legs. “I don’t know what happened, exactly, but I’ll never let it happen again.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas tried to interrupt, but Dean stood up and started pacing.

“I mean, it seemed like the only reason we swapped in the first place was because I was not injured and he was,” he continued.

“Dean,” Cas tried again, still ineffectively.

“But before I left, the other Cas said he and the other me were getting it on, so maybe he thought it was okay, or that we were, or he hadn’t known that you weren’t his Cas—”

“I liked the way he touched me.”

Dean stopped pacing and turned to Cas, feeling confusion and that unacknowledged jealousy coiling around his mind. “You…did?” he asked faintly.

Pursing his lips, Cas refused to look up at Dean from where his hands were folded on his knees. “He was very thorough,” he stated calmly, face still flaming.

His dry throat was uncomfortable, and Dean swallowed. “You… oh,” he muttered hoarsely, no longer able to meet Cas’ blue eyes. “You, erm, enjoyed it,” he added.

“Yes,” Cas said, standing and heading towards the door with steady steps. “I thought I might inquire with you further when you returned, but I see that you are rather upset. I’ll come back later.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean called as Cas slipped out the door, and he managed to catch hold of Cas before he got too far. They stood for several moments, Dean’s hand curled over Cas’ arm, until finally Cas looked at Dean over his shoulder, and Dean got another eyeful of that shocking blue color. “Maybe,” he licked his lips nervously, seeing Cas’ eyes narrow to watch the movement, “Maybe we could work something out.”


End file.
